leave me, save the caterpillar
by Flashing The Floods
Summary: It happens twice— Castiel, Nathaniel. Crap. Written for TheFigureInTheCorner.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Written for TheFigureInTheCorner who wanted: "Castiel and Nathaniel get into a fight or something and one of them falls down some stairs and gets hurt and the other has to help them," which I tried to do. I'm so sorry it's crap, dude. ****I wasn't sure which role should fall to who and whatnot, so you get both split into two chapters, le first one featuring them in le elementary years back when Child!Natty was a terror and Child!Castiel fixed busted dolls x3**

**Oh, and Herman-Sherman is the name of my friend's pet snake. I'm not creative, so I'm borrowing it o_e' **

* * *

Castiel is minding his own business, getting a drink at the fountain when he hears rubber soles rapidly thudding on the lacquered tile. He lifts his head and glances back to see Nathaniel sprinting, the styrofoam bathroom pass hanging from his wrist. The unruly blonde eight year old always took the pass and blew off class for the rest of the day. Castiel has no idea how he keeps getting away with it.

Currently, he glowers after Nathaniel in annoyance. "Somebody else might actually have to go to the bathroom y'know."

Nathaniel skids to a stop and wrinkles his nose. "Like I care, loser."

Castiel breathes a sigh of exasperation and turns back to the water fountain. He knows there's no reasoning with this kid. He probably should know not to turn his back on him either but the thought doesn't occur to him until his face is pushed down to the cool metallic drain and the water spouts into his hair.

"Whoops," Nathaniel snickers obnoxiously.

Castiel raises his head and shakes the water droplets out of his hair. "You're a jerk." He wheels and meets Nathaniel's simper with a heated glare.

"Boo hoo." Nathaniel sardonically rolls his eyes and flicks Castiel in the forehead.

Castiel shoves him back and tries to push past, only to be tripped in stride by Nathaniel's outstretched leg. He stumbles, reflexively catches himself before he can greet the floor with his face. When he straightens himself he feels his irritation boil over and attempts to shove Nathaniel again. The slippery little bastard dances away and backward, tongue poked out jeeringly.

Castiel indignantly sticks his tongue out right back.

He realizes Nathaniel's skirting the stairs at the same moment Nathaniel realizes he's skirting the stairs, his heels leaning back on air where they expected solidity and eyes popping wide, jaw dropped. A gasp leaps from Castiel's lips and he dashes forward, quickly grabbing for Nathaniel. His fingertips are a hairsbreadth away but gravity is faster than he could ever be and Nathaniel tumbles backward in a flurry of limbs as a startled yelp is hooked out of him.

There's an unsettling thump as he hits the bottom, sprawled out like a frog on the highway. Castiel is frozen in shock until a whimper rising from the bottom of the stairs yanks him out of it. With a small, shaky noise of his own he jogs down the steps and drops beside the Nathaniel, inclining his head and peering intently through sable fringe. There's blood freely pouring out of his swelling nose and busted lip, down his mouth and chin, collecting in a saucer sized puddle.

Pockets of air in the glistening ruby liquid make little bubbles that Castiel can see his infinitesimal reflection in and this sends an army of ants crawling up his cold spine. Nathaniel pulls himself up on his knees and lets out another little cry, an uprooted tooth sliding out in the bloody brook that travels down his mouth. Castiel's heart is a jackrabbit in his chest and before he can ask if Nathaniel's okay, he just starts crying.

Sniffles clog up the nosebleed and shiny tears spill soundlessly from frightened golden eyes and Castiel does. Not. Know. What. To. Do.

Part of him screams to go get a teacher _now_, but Nathaniel is _crying_. It seems wrong to leave someone who's crying and bleeding alone, even if that someone is a stupid bully. He fumbles around and anxiously fingers to get one of the many pockets on his cargo pants unbuttoned and fishes out a packet of tissues.

He'd been a target for cold after dumb cold this past winter and his mom had insisted and nagged until he carried tissue accordingly. The habit just stuck and for the moment Castiel feels insanely grateful it did. He takes a few out and charily wipes the smears of blood from Nathaniel's nose. The actual bleeding from the broken tooth (the little pointy on on the bottom) and busted lip haven't stopped, but his nose has so Castiel gently dabs under there too.

Nathaniel is so stunned he stops crying. He stares at Castiel in a mix of confusion and animalistic distress. Castiel mops the sheeny tear tracks away with another ball of tissue and meets Nathaniel's eyes with a mask of calmness he doesn't really feel at all.

"Can you get up?"

"Nuh-uh." Nathaniel shakes his head, gaze misting over with new tears. "It hurts."

"What hurts?"

Nathaniel starts to point to his knee, but apparently his hand hurts too because he winces and makes another little pitiful noise. Castiel's insides twinge in sympathy, teeth worrying at his lip.

"What if I help you?"

"M-Maybe." Nathaniel's voice wavers.

Castiel hauls him up from under the armpits and secures an arm around his waist. Nathaniel maintains a fragile balance, sniffling softly as he puts an arm over Castiel's shoulders. Castiel holds his wrist gingerly and supports him to the office. It's not a far walk at all, but it feels like it's worlds away with how slow and careful he's got to accommodate the pace for Nathaniel.

Mrs. Jarjayes is at her desk, typing away, keyboard clicking rapidly. She looks up when they cross the threshold and gasps as her gaze lands on Nathaniel, practically lunging out of her chair. "Oh my god!"

"He fell down the stairs," Castiel explains awkwardly, pulse fluttering with a mild crest of panic because Mrs. Jarjayes is freaking out, but she's an adult so she's _supposed_ to know what to do!

Luckily she recovers herself and composure, firmly ordering one secretary to call Nathaniel's parents and the other to get the school nurse as she swiftly speed-walks up to them. Castiel briefly wonders why adults always do that and why they don't run, but the answerless question is brushed to the wayside as she then starts guiding him and Nathaniel-by-proxy to the plastic chairs that line the wall.

What happens after is a massive blur of hullabaloo. She asks lots of questions for Nathaniel about running in the halls and what hurts where and how bad, and Castiel can't keep up with it all. He's pretty grateful when Mr. Herman-Sherman glides over and excuses him back to class. He gives him a pink slip with a little note and his initials so he won't get in trouble.

Despite genuinely wanting to get out of here because he knows he can't do a damn thing, Castiel still feels a little troubled about just leaving Nathaniel alone. He kind of wants to ask if he's going to be okay just to have that reassurance...But he's too shy and the words jumble into gibberish and dissipate in the back of his throat. He just ducks his head and obediently marches back to class.

დ

Nathaniel doesn't come back for a couple of weeks, much to the relief of all the kids he picked on on a daily basis. Castiel learns from Amber that he twisted the knee and broke a couple fingers. She doesn't seem sorry about it at all, though Castiel supposes it's understandable with the way he's always harassing her and her friends.

Castiel doesn't really feel bad for Nathaniel either...Err, well maybe he does. But just a little teeny tiny bit.

It's hard not to feel bad for someone when you watch them break down in tears and bleed all over the floor.

Castiel feels mildly relieved on some level or another when Nathaniel does come back. He's also pleasantly surprised when Nathaniel is, well, nicer. To him, anyway. Not nicer in the sense that Nathaniel goes out of his way to be friendly, but nicer in the sense that he doesn't have to worry about getting his head dunked in the water fountain anymore.

And that's all Castiel needs.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Sorry this took so long. Gotta lotta crap going on e_e'**

**And the definition of 'help' here gets, erm...Well, loose 'n abused.**

* * *

His last class of the day has officially ended. Which of course means that Castiel should be on his way home. Instead he's being held up by a petty argument with a petty student body president.

"It's very simple," Nathaniel goes on briskly. "You're not allowed to eat in class, so stop eating in class."

"Why do you care?" Castiel snaps, shuffling toward the stairs and looking back to glower.

Nathaniel heaves an exasperated sigh. "Because you just shouldn't disobey the rules! Besides you got crumbs everywhere, and that's just extra work the custodians shouldn't have to have. And if you eat in class and get away with it, other people are going to do the same thing and make more messes."

"Crumbs," Castiel scoffs. "You have your panties all in a twist over crumbs. Shit, Nat, you need to get laid."

Incensed, Nathaniel bristles with a sound like a choking cat and shoves him from behind. Castiel stumbles forward, and all it takes is a step-and-a-half to send him somersaulting down the stairs. He instinctively puts his hands out to break the fall, and then there's a blurry crack of pain, a flash of black.

.

.

.

"...pass out!?"

Castiel blinks blearily, the first thing he sees Nathaniel's shoes. For a second nothing makes sense and then he lifts his head, flinching at the spike of pain that drills into the back of his skull. He's at the bottom of the staircase and Nathaniel's squatted down beside him, alarm and bewilderment fixing his visage. Castiel draws himself into a sit, leaning back against the wall and putting a hand to his head. He feels like one giant, pulsating bruise, but the worst of it is throbbing there, keen and sharp.

"You did pass out, didn't you? You didn't say anything when I asked if you were dead."

"Why would you ask if I was _dead?_" mutters Castiel, trying to focus on Nathaniel enough to glare and finding himself unable. He feels off, dazed.

Nathaniel disregards the question entirely and asks one of his own. "What's my name?"

"You know your own name," Castiel spits irritably. He's not a patient person and the few grains of patience he does possess have been drained to the bottom of the hourglass.

"I know it, I want to make sure you know it. Delayed responses and memory loss are typical of head trauma." Nathaniel studies him intently, brow furrowed.

"S'Bitchface McTightass, now leave me alone."

Nathaniel pauses, his concern reworking itself to tired vexation. "Oh. You're just fine." He stands up and brushes nonexistent dirt from his clothes.

Castiel...Isn't too sure about that. He starts to stand and stars dance through his sightline, a tinny ringing in his ears. He dizzily slumps back to the floor.

"Alright, maybe I spoke too soon." Nathaniel glances down to him uncertainly. "I'll get the nurse, okay?"

"Don't," protests Castiel. He just needs a minute to get his bearings, he doesn't want this to turn into a big deal. But Nathaniel's already leaving and he can't summon the effort to get up again. His head is pounding, the room is twirling, and he's suddenly really, really sore, damn it. Today is just gonna be one of those days, isn't it?

Nathaniel returns with the school nurse in tow, a stout cactus of a woman with a perpetual sour grimace on her face.

"Where's it hurt?" she asks like it's his fault.

_Everywhere._ "It doesn't, I'm fine."

"That one says you're uncoordinated." She jerks her thumb back at Nathaniel.

"Just a little lightheaded," he mutters and if he weren't genuinely hurting and put out, he'd find Nathaniel's expression upon being referred to as 'that one' priceless.

She hums critically and slips a penlight out of her pocket, proceeding to flash it right into his eyes without so much as a warning. "Your pupils are blown, kid. My money's on a concussion. Take it easy the rest of the day, alright? Have someone keep an eye on you in case your symptoms get worse. If they do, alert someone who isn't me." She brusquely pats him on the shoulder and gets up, whisking around on her heel.

"Wait," Nathaniel sputters after her. "He lives alone!"

"Not my problem." She waves her hand in a dismissive gesture and keeps walking, never glancing back.

Castiel internally groans and brings himself to a stand against the wall. The flare of vertigo has burned out, leaving ashes of unsteady discomfort but nothing he can't handle. He starts walking down the hall, battered limbs protesting the movement and an invisible halberd splitting through his skull. But he's okay, right? As long as he's not seeing stars he can get home.

"Hang on, where are you going?" Nathaniel takes his arm.

"Home. Where else?" He's too tender to shake him off.

"But you shouldn't be alone right now. Can't you call Lysander, or something?"

"He wasn't here today for a reason," replies Castiel. "He's sick, I'm not gonna bother him. Why do you even care?"

Nathaniel mumbles something too low to catch and lowers his gaze to the floor.

"Speak up or let go, Nat. My head's killing me and you're on my last nerve." He tries to put enough bite behind the words for it to come out as a threat, but it's difficult when he feels like he just dove headfirst into a swimming pool of bricks.

"I said I feel bad," breathes Nathaniel, only just loud enough to be audible. "What happened was an accident, but I...I should've been paying attention."

"What are y—" Castiel cuts himself off, recalling. His memory's muddled, grainy snapshots before his trip down the stairs, but it's there nonetheless. "You pushed me." He fixes Nathaniel with a smoldering death glare.

"Not like that!" Nathaniel flinches and finally lets go of his arm. "It was an accident, really! I'm sorry."

Castiel pauses. Nathaniel has never apologized to him before. Not for anything, ever, the proud bastard. "Give me bus fare then. It's the least you can do."

Contemplation and compunction quiver over Nathaniel's features and leave a firm rictus. "Fine, I'll pay for the bus, but I'm not giving you the money. I'm going home with you."

"No."

"You don't have anyone else to keep an eye on you."

"Screw what she said, I don't need to be babysat!"

"Right now you do. You're pale and your words are slurring, and I refuse to be responsible if you keel over."

Alright. Nathaniel isn't budging on this and Castiel's too weary to keep arguing. He sighs in defeat and Nathaniel takes the cue.

The walk to the bus stop isn't exactly a struggle — he's not _that_ fucked up — but it isn't exactly undemanding either. Every step incites a nagging reminder that oh yeah, he's going to a nice collage of bruises to look at later. It's tense too, sharing space with Nathaniel. Neither of them say anything until they're halfway there and then it's Nathaniel who breaks the silence, awkward and unsure.

"You can lean on me if you need to..."

For a second Castiel thinks Nathaniel might be mocking him, but a glance at the taut crease of his mouth changes his mind. He'd shrug if his shoulders didn't hurt. "M'alright."

When the bus comes it's already crowded and they have to sit together, which is just as well, because they probably would've anyway and now they have an excuse. The air reeks of hot oil and chewed bubblegum stuck under seats. The clutter of conversations and shifting bodies is grating on the pressure that already pulses between Castiel's temples. He sinks back and tentatively lays his head on Nathaniel's shoulder.

Nathaniel's posture goes stiff as he pretends not to notice.

"You're not feeling nauseous at all, are you?" he asks at some point when indeterminable seconds that drag on like weeks have ticked by.

"Your face is making me nauseous," Castiel offers drily. But he doesn't think it's the concussion or Nathaniel's face, he just thinks it's the thick atmosphere.

"Charming," Nathaniel deadpans.

The silence between them resumes all the way up until Castiel's digging the key out of his pocket to open the door. Sticking it in the lock and turning shouldn't be a difficult task, but for reasons he can't explain it isn't easy. He drops it and it's like Nathaniel expected him to drop it, because he catches it before it can hit the ground and unlocks the door himself.

Castiel grunts softly and takes the key back, cramming it in his pocket before turning the knob and stepping over the threshold. Nathaniel follows, nudging the door closed behind him.

"Don't get too comfortable," Castiel warns.

Nathaniel starts to reply, but it turns to a noise of displeasure as a curious Demon trots up to him and starts sniffing. His nose wrinkles and he shuffles off to the side, but Demon is undeterred and continues until he's satisfied. The canine then sneezes mist all over the blonde's pants and promptly turns his attention to Castiel, bumping his leg with his nose and whining pointedly.

That one's the 'out' whine.

"Alright," Castiel breathes, patting Demon's head and sluggishly treading to the kitchen to let him out the back door. Demon urgently bounds ahead and Nathaniel trails after him dubiously.

"You can actually understand what it wants?"

"He's easier to understand than you," Castiel grumbles, opening the door for Demon and smiling faintly as he eagerly gallops out, a streak of black and brown. He glances back to Nathaniel with an established aversion and the expectation to snapped at.

Nathaniel doesn't snap. He adjusts the collar of his shirt and softly says, "You've got a pretty good sized bump on the back of your head."

"You must be so proud of yourself," snipes Castiel, rubbing at the aforementioned damage somewhat automatically and wincing.

"I already told you, it was an accident...Look, you should go sit down. I could get you some ice if you want."

Castiel flounders, taken aback. Nathaniel is peering at him uncomfortably, fingers still raised to his collar and dry lips in an apprehensive line. He looks guilty. Wholesomely, undeniably guilty, expecting someone to slap the cuffs on him any moment now.

"...Alright," Castiel mutters. "Ice is in there." He points needlessly to the freezer and brushes past before Nathaniel can reply. He heads back to the living room and parks himself on the couch, casting a glance to the black screen of the television.

He's not sure where the remote is. He's too drained to look for it. Maybe it's better anyway, he doesn't feel like he could concentrate on anything. He lies down instead and looks to the ceiling. The cushions welcome him warmly and he almost wants to sleep. But he's not about to do that when Nathaniel of all people is audibly bumbling around in his kitchen. Besides, he's pretty sure you're not supposed to sleep when concussed.

In movies you're not supposed to anyway, whoever's with you with frantically slap you in the face and tell you to stay with them. He doesn't know how accurate that is, but there tends to be a seed of truth in every dramatized cinematic feature and he doesn't want to chance it.

"Here," Nathaniel announces his return, holding out a provisional icepack comprised of ice cubes in a plastic sandwich bag, wrapped in a clean dishtowel.

Castiel looks him over and accepts it without comment. He sits up a bit to hold it to the aching knob protruding from his scalp. The compression of coolness is an instant allayment and he settles back with ease. Nathaniel wordlessly shrugs his schoolbag off his shoulders and takes a seat in the armchair, posture straight and rigid. He watches idly as Nathaniel slips out a textbook and simply starts studying.

How...Typical of him. But Castiel's not complaining, it's better Nathaniel's busying himself with a task that doesn't involve annoying him. He shifts his gaze back to the ceiling and loses track of time listening to the brisk flip of laminated pages. The cool of the ice is still soothingly seeping in and the ambiance is an almost serene one.

Insistant barks at the back door interrupt. Demon wants in. Castiel starts to get up when Nathaniel's textbook snaps closed.

"I'll get it," he declares, on his feet and prancing to the kitchen before Castiel can wrap his head around this.

Nathaniel being considerate is just strange. Very strange. It's a curveball to everything he'd ever expect out of him, and it almost feels wrong. Almost_._ Not so wrong that he won't see how far he can push it.

He hears the door swing shut again and the click of Demon's nails on the floor, and Nathaniel saunters into the room a few heartbeats later.

"I let him in, but he's just standing outside your pantry."

"That's because I usually feed him right about now," Castiel intones, measuring Nathaniel with a half-lidded glance.

"Ah...I'll get that too. I'm already up." Nathaniel dismisses himself back to the kitchen, as awkward as a lost duckling, and Castiel feels a grin stretch his lips.

Oh yeah, he's definitely gonna push this. It's only smart to seize the opportunity, right?

He listens to the distant clatter of kibble filling a plastic bowl and then vigorous gobbling as Demon digs in. Nathaniel returns and Castiel waits until he sits back down again and resumes his reading.

"Hey, Nat."

"What?"

"Go make me a sandwich."

Nathaniel turns to him, sparking eyes narrowed and unamused mouth tucked down. "I'm not here to wait on you."

"Well then I guess I'll make it myself. Even though I'm supposed to be taking it easy..." He sits up, icepack and deliberately tender movement conspicuous.

Nathaniel squirms in his spot and stands with an irascible huff. "_Fine._ But I know what it is you're doing."

"I'm not doing anything," Castiel replies lightly as he leans back into the couch, brimming with satisfaction. "I'm just hungry."

Nathaniel rolls his eyes and trudges from the room. It's immensely gratifying to hear him mutter and gripe under the sounds of clinking plates and the opening and slamming of a refrigerator door. Demon lumbers back in and hops into the armchair, nonchalantly plopping down in Nathaniel's spot and if Castiel has ever doubted that he and his dog were on the same wavelength, all remnants of it vanish right there.

Nathaniel looks various levels of done when he comes back and holds out the plate of turkey-on-rye like he's holding out a rabid rat in a cage.

"Here."

Snickering softly, Castiel takes it and takes a bite. He chews it over contentedly. "Not bad, Nat. But next time use mayo."

Nathaniel facepalms so violently that Castiel is surprised he doesn't knock himself out. "I was being nice by making it at all! And has no one ever told you to eat with your mouth closed!? You know what? I don't need to be here. You're clearly fine enough to be yourself, you can be left alone."

"Told you I didn't need to be babysat," says Castiel. "But anyway, thanks for the sandwich."

There is a pregnant pause. "On second thought, maybe you're not yourself."

Castiel hides his grin behind said sandwich as Nathaniel sinks down onto the cushion next to him.


End file.
